


The Space between Us

by grayimperia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Multi, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/pseuds/grayimperia
Summary: [Major V3 Spoilers]Ouma, Momota, the killing game, and pieces of eternity.





	The Space between Us

_luck_

Ouma twirls the knife between his fingers, thin and pale as bones. His eyes fixated on it slide to meet Momota’s glare—no part of him slows in his movements. The cheeky grin is too much, and Momota says, “I’m starting to think you’re a fucking masochist.”

“Oh?” he says, and with a sudden jab he takes the knife and stabs it between the splayed fingers of his hand resting on the desk he sits at. “And why is that?”

“‘Cause you’re always doing dangerous shit like that,” Momota says plainly. “And one day your luck’s gonna run out and you’ll be down a fucking finger or something.”

Ouma hums and twirls the knife again. “I think my luck’s already run out…” Then he tilts his head. “Momota-chan? Will you still love me if I only have nine fingers?”

Momota groans.

-

_coin_

With an air of grace and serenity floating around her, Kaede calmly walks to the last remaining chair in the classroom and tosses it to the side with a loud clatter. Saihara flinches at the sound and reaches to fiddle with his hat. From under the brim of his hat, he sees her kneel down and pick up something shiny and round and decorated with Monokuma’s face from the ground.

Kaede stands with her prize held triumphantly between two fingers. Saihara approaches. “Ah, it’s another one…”

“They seem to be all over the place,” Kaede says.

“You’re, um,” Saihara searches the destroyed room for something to say, “you’re going to be rich in no time at this rate.”

She hums and turns to press it into his hands. “You keep it.” His face begins to feel warm, and he pulls his hat down farther, and is about to protest the gesture when Kaede claps her hands together. “I have a good feeling about finding even more in the next room.”

Saihara stutters, but he follows, and more chairs fly through the air.

-

_dice_

"What was your secret organization called?” Momota asks. “I mean, not that I think it’s fucking real, but,” he shrugs, “you know.”

Ouma doesn’t look up from his new knife game. “Do you actually want an answer to that question?”

“Are you going to give me an answer?” Momota asks. “Or are we going to fucking sit here and stare at each other all day?”

The dents in the desk between Ouma’s fingers grow deeper, the sound of the knife’s harsh jabs ring through the classroom. “Dice,” he says, and the knife slams into the desk.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Ouma begins, “it’s a roll of the dice if I’ll tell you.”

Momota leans back in his chair. “So we are just going to fucking sit here all day…”

“There’s always a chance,” Ouma says and the knife slides through one of his fingers.

-

_bread_

In the cafeteria, Kiibo says, “Iruma-san, are you simply eating a piece of toast with nothing on it?”

Crumbs fly from her mouth when she responds. “What are you—my fucking mother?”

He frowns. “No. I apologize if my question was rude, but I have never seen someone simply eat a piece of bread by itself.”

Iruma waves a hand. “Well, sometimes you don’t have the time to waste on making crappy food. ‘Sides,” she finally swallows her bite. “Good bread doesn’t need any shit on it, you know?”

“I see,” Kiibo says. “Also, Iruma-san, what does good bread taste like?”

“It tastes,” she says, “like—like plain. But, like, not bad plain—like vanilla sex plain. Nothing to get excited over, but you still get excited, ‘cause it’s,” Iruma frowns, “I don’t know—reliable?”

Kiibo nods. “I think I understand—Iruma-san,” he announces, “I believe that means you are like bread.”

Iruma chokes on her next bite.

-

_house_

Ouma stares at the stars sparkling on the band aid Momota had fished out of his pocket when blood began to leak across the desk.

Momota wipes the panicked sweat from his brow, collapsing into his chair as Ouma twists his hand this way and that, making the stars sparkle. “You’re so cute, Momota-chan,” he says. “Carrying something like this around.”

He runs a hand over his face. “Oh, don’t fucking bitch about it—be happy I had anything on me.”

“Wasn’t complaining,” Ouma corrects, rocking back and forth in his chair. “I just think it’s cute—it’s like we’re playing house!”

“Yeah,” Momota says flatly. “You know the part of house where the kid almost cuts off one of his fingers, like I fucking warned you would happen.”

Ouma keeps twisting his hand. “Did you know Saihara-chan once played house with me when I cut myself?”

Momota falls quiet. Then, “No, I guess I didn’t.”

-

_crime_

Amami has his face buried in his hands, and Shirogane writes in her clipboard without sparing him a second glance. “Did you know,” she says finally, “that most winners of DanganRonpa are charged with murder after graduating?” She clicks her pen. “I just thought that was an interesting piece of trivia.”

His hands fall from his face to collapse in his lap. “All the murderers are dead.”

She nods. “As they should be—it’d be a shame if one our ticking time bombs didn’t go off.”

“You set them up?” Amami asks.

“Yes and no,” Shirogane answers. “Team DanganRonpa simply puts the dominos in place—it’s their own choice to fall over.”

Amami goes quiet for a moment, then, “I change my mind. None of the murderers are dead.”

“‘Team DanganRonpa killed them, they didn’t kill each other,’” she says. “Is that what you were going to say? A crime is a crime, and a killer is a killer—your friends weren’t as complicated as you’re making them out to be.”

Silence falls over him again. Shirogane’s writing scratches against her paper, and very quietly Amami says, “I don’t care… how many times you put me through this—I’ll never kill anyone…”

“Then you’ll be the first to go next time,” she answers without looking up. “Of course, it would be kind of a crime to just kill you after so long…”

“And Team DanganRonpa can’t have that.”

“No,” Shirogane says. “Team DanganRonpa can have whatever it wants, and they’re going to want those dominos to fall.”

-

_dull_

Ouma fiddles with the star band aid, pressing down on his injured finger and swinging his legs in times with Momota’s winces. “Doesn’t that fucking hurt?”

“No,” he answers. “Maybe if it happened to you, but then again, you’ve always been a weakling, Momota-chan.”

Momota nearly jumps to his feet, chair clattering to the ground behind him. He slams both of his hands on the desk. “I’m not fucking weak. I’m—”

“After all this time,” Ouma says dully, eyes still locked on the stars. “You still can’t tell when I’m lying—that’s pretty sad, Momota-chan.”

He lets out a labored sigh, running his hand through his hair. “Well fucking forgive me for worrying about you.”

Ouma just shrugs. “It’s stupid to worry about me. Besides,” he folds his hands behind his head and smiles with his words. “After what happened, all pain feels dull to me. I can’t really feel anything anymore.” Momota looks at him with too sad eyes, so Ouma smiles even wider. “Ah, Momota-chan, you really are worried about me, aren’t you?”

Momota huffs and buries his face in his arms when he collapses back in his chair. Ouma reaches out and pats his head until Momota swats his injured hand away.

-

_print_

Tenko writes out, ‘The Amazing Yumeno Himiko’s Magic Show’ with its time and far too many exclamation points dotting each piece of information. Yumeno rests her head on her propped up hand, and mumbles, “You have nice handwriting…”

Tenko’s head whips towards her, pigtails flying out behind her. “Ah! Thank you, Yumeno-san!”

Yumeno’s eyes flicker over the poster. “How many of these are you gonna make? There’s only twelve other people here…”

“Tenko knows,” she answers with a nod. “And… Tenko is also still a little uncertain about this, but if it’s important to Yumeno-san, Tenko will do her best to make sure everyone comes.”

Yumeno doesn’t say anymore but reaches for one of Tenko’s pens and begins to doodle pinwheels and angel wings around the words on each flyer.

-

_candy_

Ouma begins to fish through the desk at the front of the room after a time. His hands absently shuffle around erasers and pencils and arrows and antidotes while Momota sits before for him with his head pillowed in his arms. He’s snoring softly, and in the next drawer Ouma finds a ruler and an EMP bomb and a piece of tightly wrapped hard candy.

With the ruler in one hand and the candy teased between his fingers in the other, Ouma approaches Momota’s desk. He sits on the desk next to him and unwinds the wrapper before leaning forward and attempting to place the tiny candy as close as possible to Momota’s sleeping face.

Momota snuffles, shifting in his sleep, and Ouma taps the ruler against his knee in time with each tick of the clock counting down their eternity.

-

_piano_

Yumeno narrows her eyes at the sheet music—the simple notes parading up and down the page, and she hears Saihara’s fingers haltingly follow along. He pauses in the slow melody for a touch too long. “Yumeno-san,” he says softly, “um, I’m done with this page now.”

“Oh,” she says, and her small hand reaches forward to turn the page. “You should play something more exciting next time—I keep spacing out.”

He begins to play anew, voice carrying out just barely above the notes. “I would like to, but I think that’s a bit beyond me right now.”

Yumeno frowns, and Saihara plays. She says, “You need to train more then.”

He smiles. “Will you stay awake to help me?”

She puffs out her cheeks. “Only if you get better really fast. Otherwise I’ll have to use my magic.”

Saihara laughs. “I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

-

_shatter_

Momota has a dream where he’s standing over Ouma with one foot pressed against the tiny boy’s heaving chest. They’re both in strange—ordinary—black uniforms, and someone else moves his mouth and speaks with his voice when he says down to Ouma’s tear slicked face, “And that’s why you shouldn’t fucking lie to me.”

On the ground, someone speaking with Ouma’s voice lets out a chocked cry of, “No! Please don’t!” and desperately reaches one hand forward as Momota feels himself throw something held high in his hand down to the ground.

The sound of glass being smashed echoes, and Momota turns his head to see a phone lying cracked against the pavement that seems so far below him. Its screen is shattered, and Ouma’s voice shatters, and then Momota’s dream shatters when something bounces off his head.

Momota nearly inhales the piece of hard candy poised near his mouth when he wakes up, and Ouma laughs and laughs from the desk next to him.

-

_knight_

Saihara had always hoped someone would save him. Not necessarily from the killing game or the pain of the truth or any of the other awful things that filled the world. Just in general. He always thought he was the kind of person who needed to be saved. That was just the way things were. 

Then there was Amami’s corpse and the trial and the answers to everything staring him dead in the face as everyone's pointing fingers slowly boxed him in. And his knight in shining armor riding to her death right in front of him. 

And she saves him. Because that's just the next awful thing filling the world in front of him. 

-

_poor_

Momota spits the piece of candy into a trash can while Ouma sits cross legged on the front desk, fingers laced under his chin. He doesn't say a word when a thick stream of blood follows, and Momota’s shoulder begins to shake. He coughs more and more blood comes and to end the cycle Ouma finally says, “Shame--that was our only food.”

It’s enough of a distraction that the blood stops, and Momota looks up at him wiping his chin. “Don't think,” he wheezes, “I could eat shit if I tried.”

Ouma hums. “I guess it doesn't matter much now, but,” he moves his injured finger to begin tracing patterns on the desk. “You've always been well taken care of, huh, Momota-chan?”

The blood from his mouth dribbles down his sleeve. “I don't know, maybe,” he says. “Shit’s kinda fucking hard to remember.”

“I remember,” Ouma says in his tracing, “being hungry. Living on the street. Being so cold that all my fingers turned blue, expect,” he says looking up, “that's all a lie.”

He begins to laugh, and Momota rolls his eyes as he spits out the blood pooling behind his teeth. 

-

_first crush_

Iruma’s fingers fly over the keyboard in the computer room, and Kiibo stares almost jealously over her shoulder. She cackles, “Amazed by my skills, Kiibs?”

“Your talent is truly impressive, Iruma-san,” he says even as he glares down at the monitor. “Are you really going to create a completely virtual world?”

“You bet your shiny metal ass I am,” she says. “Or at least, I'm gonna customize the shit out of Monokuma’s. Get rid of all the death traps and crap.”

“That is still very impressive,” Kiibo says. “However, I'm afraid I still don't quite understand why you are doing this.”

Iruma freezes, her shoulders becoming tight and her fingers suddenly hurrying over the wrong keys. “No reason!” she shouts. “No fucking--I mean because I want to, uh,” she waves a hand and returns to her typing. “I want to let everyone take a break from this shithole of a school.”

“That is very kind of you, Iruma-san,” he says. 

“Yeah, well, I'm a fucking saint. What can I tell ya.”

Kiibo goes quiet, and Iruma’s typing echoes around the suddenly too small room. Above the silence, he eventually says, “Iruma-san, this might sound a bit strange to say, but I do not believe everything about being trapped here has been awful.”

She snorts. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes,” he says. “As though I would very much like to be free from here, I believe I will also always remember this as the place where I made my first friend.”

Iruma’s shoulders tighten again, and she mumbles, “yeah, me too,” and continues to type to her plan for murder right next to her first crush.

-

_fake_

“Hey, Momota-chan,” Ouma says, staring straight up at the ceiling. “Which you do you think is real?”

Momota’s returned to sitting slouched forward in a desk. “Fuck if I know, man.”

“Do you think that the self you hide is real? Or the self that more people know? To the outside world, that one has to be the truth, right?” Ouma says. “So wouldn't that mean your fake self is more real?”

Momota grows and rests his forehead on his desk. “You know what I really want to know? When the fuck are you gonna stop speaking in riddles? We’re fucking dead, and you still can't give me a straight answer.”

“So we are,” Ouma says in far too serious a voice. “Maybe that's the real me.”

And when Momota looks up, he sees the ends of his white sleeve and feels blood dried around his mouth. And sees Ouma perched in front of him with his tiny arms finally pulled through the sleeves of Momota’s jacket, purple as all the stars in space. 

Ouma says, “We were created to die, after all.”

-

_gamble_

Shirogane thinks that it's all a question of timing. The shotput’s heavy in her hands, and the countdown music roars in her ears as Amami strays closer and closer to her trap. 

It's a question of timing because Shinguji saw her leave the cafeteria, and her excuse’s first time frame of believability is approaching. It'll come down when it's meant to, but damn her if the serial killer’s the one to figure it out. Of course, it’s also a matter of timing because of Iruma’s cameras, and being found out by someone like her would be almost as bad. And then there’s Kaede, but if Shirogane has to go, she'd pick being taken down by the hopeful hero every time. 

She supposes that there's also Amami, and he looks down at his Monopad again, searching desperately for the hidden answer in her trap. Shirogane knows they’re both aware that either his gamble will pay off or he’ll die--and there are no other outcomes. 

The camera flashes, and Amami’s head whips to the light. 

It flashes again as he moves to turn it off, and Shirogane begins to count. 

Five. The ball starts rolling atop the bookshelf. 

Four. Amami removes the camera and stares at it quizzically. 

Three. He glares down at his Monopad at roughly the same time the ball drops past his nose. 

Two. He stares in pure shock at the death he just avoided, and Shirogane steps out with her own death held tightly in her hands. 

One. Amami spins on his heel, and his eyes widen as he realizes everything right before he falls to the ground. 

Shirogane picks up Kaede’s shotput and Amami’s Monopad and steps back through the door at the count of zero. 

The real trick to gambling, she thinks, is to cheat. 

And she wins against every hero betting against her. 

-

_risk_

The sleeves are bunched around Ouma’s bony elbows and bonier wrists so his tiny pale fingers just barely peek out. He teases the starry band aid wrapped around his dead fingers, and Momota can't bare to see him press on it anymore. 

He says, “Don't--”

And Ouma says,“It's funny. Even when I'm dead, every risk I take ends in pain.” He holds his hand out as if he’s examining a manicure, and Momota catches sight of the arrow sticking out of his arm. His voice is detached, and Momota almost believes he’s staring at someone else’s maimed body. “That's really funny, isn't it, Momota-chan?”

“I thought you said you couldn't feel pain anymore,” Momota says tightly. 

Ouma hums. “I guess I did. I wonder if that was a lie. It's so hard to tell these days.”

Momota stands, and he finds himself staring down at Ouma casually sitting up under the press, swinging his short legs. 

The stars fade from the bandage. Ouma says, “I wonder what everyone else thought before they died. I'd like to think they figured everything out. Or maybe they were just full of hope. That'd be disappointing, though.”

Momota feels his grip on Ouma’s script tighten. “I didn't know anything,” he rasps. “I just knew that I was dying.”

Ouma huffs and settles his head in his hands. “Of all the people I could've worked with to risk everyone's lives, it had to be you.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to me?” Momota says, suddenly feeling very offended. 

“Oh, nothing,” he answers. “Just that you're not that smart and you're too soft and you didn't have to jostle me that much when you carried me here.”

Momota sits beside him with a huff. “Well fucking _sorry_.”

“Don't apologize,” Ouma says as he places his bandaged hand over one of Momota’s. “You're still the only person who would love me if I became a big pile off mush.”

He grins up at him, and Momota pushes his face away with one large hand. 

-

_kiss_

They're walking in the gardens, and Yumeno says, “Hey, what do you think kissing a boy’s like?”

Tenko screws up her face into a look of pure disgust. “Awful. They probably taste like sweat and badly cooked meat.”

“That’s really specific…” Yumeno mumbles. “I think it's probably okay. Maybe slightly itchy…”

“Tenko supposes,” she says. “Mostly Tenko thinks it would be gross.”

“Most kissing sounds kinda gross,” Yumeno says. “Just kinda smashing your mouth against someone else. Drooling on them a little.” She places a finger on her lip. “What do you think kissing a girl’s like?”

Tenko’s erupts with blush. “A-Ah, kissing a girl,” she presses her hands to her face. “Kissing a girl is probably really soft and special.”

“Is smashing your face against a girl’s always special?” 

“Uh, well,” Tenko flushes again. “Tenko thinks so. As long as the girl is special.”

Yumeno walks in silence for a moment, then at the doors to the school, she says, “Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

“N-No,” Tenko says. “But Tenko would like to one day.”

“Yeah,” says Yumeno as she pushes the door open. “Me, too.”

She vanishes into the school, and Tenko races after her, shouting, “Yumeno-san!”

-

_death_

They're both lying under the press, and Momota says, “Is this what it’s gonna be like forever? Me and you, and,” he gestures vaguely. “Whatever hell this is.”

Ouma’s shining eyes are half lidded, and he says, “I don't think we’re in hell, Momota-chan. I probably deserve to go to hell, but you're here, too, so that rules that out.”

Momota sighs. “I dunno. I think I was kind of a shit person before this.”

“I know,” says Ouma. 

Momota sits up on his elbows and stares down at him. “You know?!”

“I do,” he says. “But then again, I know everything.”

Ouma starts laughing, and Momota punches his shoulder. “You little fucking liar.”

“Ah, don't be mad,” says Ouma. “It made you happy, didn't it?”

“It freaked me the fuck out.”

“Which made me happy,” says Ouma. “Which I think is close enough.”

Momota signs and lies back down. “You're never going to stop fucking messing with me.”

“Probably not,” says Ouma. “But,” he sits up. “I'll knock it off for now. Need to make a good second impression or something.” He pulls a face. “Ugh, Iruma-chan’s probably gonna make me beg on my knees or something. And then she'll probably make a gross joke about it.”

Momota sits up. “The hell are you fucking talking about?”

Ouma stands. “We have to go. It's been fun hanging out, by everyone else is waiting.”

He begins to walk away, and Momota scrambles to his feet. “Wait! What does that mean? Are we--” 

The words die in his throat, and Ouma stares back at him in his black uniform with his eyes on fire. “Our date’s been fun, Momota-chan, but you have to let me go sometime.”

And Momota sees stars flash before his eye, and he coughs his heart out. 

When he opens them again, it's Ouma’s tiny skeletal hand reaching out to him through the abyss, surrounded by nine ghosts he used to know. 

-

_sleep_

Saihara feels Yumeno resting her head against the side of his arm. Maki sits stalk still on the other side of him, back straight as a ruler. 

“So,” Yumeno half mumbles into his sleeve. “What do we do now?”

“Well,” Saihara says with a shaky breath. “I guess we… I don't know.” He looks down at his lap. “I don't know.”

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself,” Maki says. 

“S-Sorry,” he says. 

Yumeno leans around him, and her arm is too short to properly swat at the other girl. With a vaguely threatening wave, she says, “Don't be mean. You're not supposed to do that anymore.”

Maki rolls her eyes. Saihara pats Yumeno’s arm stretch across his lap. “It’s okay, Yumeno-san. I don't mind.”

She puffs out her cheeks. “But if you get all sad and stuff then your shoulder’s get ridged, and you won't be a good pillow.”

“Ah, I'll,” Saihara tugs on his bangs. “I'll try to stay happy then.”

Maki snorts. “You're still such a pushover.”

Yumeno waves her hand at her again. “Stop. You be happy, too.”

Maki rolls her eyes. 

Saihara says, “Maybe we should try that. Just… try being happy with what we can.” His voice is far too helpless. “I mean, what else can we do?”

Maki’s hands tighten into fists, and Yumeno nuzzles against his arm. Maki begins to say, “Stop being stupid--”

And Yumeno says, “Yeah, and we can sleep, too.” 

Saihara attempts to say more, but she shushes him, before settling her small hand over his. He sits as still as he can, and as time ticks on, Maki eventually leans her head against his shoulder as well. 

He settles back, and Maki tersely whispers, “Stop moving,” while Yumeno snores. 

Saihara sighs and then finally sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am currently at a convention and challenged myself to write twenty 100 word prompts while I waited in lines since I realized I wouldn't be able to update my rewrite today. Uh, each section is over my word limit by quite a bit, but I hope this is still enjoyable!


End file.
